Women's Work
by Cassanah
Summary: Mulan overhears a disturbing rumour about her husband.


**Women's Work**

 _First written in 2007._

* * *

"May I suggest the bay, as she is of the sweetest temperament…?"

The merchant let his words trail off uncertainly when Mulan made no discernable response. The filly in question was certainly pretty, with a strong, arched neck and lean muscles visibly rippling beneath her shining coat. Mulan wished she could go into the paddock herself to inspect her further. But it was dangerous for her in her current state to enter the dusty clearing where the dozen or so colts were playing spiritedly.

"The roan, then, madam," continued the man, indicating another animal, "has been broken in already and needs no spurring. Take it from me, he will respond well to a woman's touch."

"Can you bring him out?"

Mulan knew horses, and she could see at a glance that these animals were a fine lot. But she wanted this horse to be more than just a good animal; it had to be _hand-picked_. She was used to doing things herself.

The merchant hesitated, eyes darting to her rounded belly before taking in the rest of her attire, that of a wealthy noblewoman. There was gold to be had here, if he struck the right deal. If court gossip was right, as it generally was, the general's young wife was an eccentric. He, too, had heard her barely believable story, and as this diminutive woman stood before him, so child-like and tired, it was difficult to imagine that she was indeed the hero of so many ballads. But she met his gaze, her eyes glittering. He could imagine the same look sparking in any hard soldier, sword flashing in hand and body coiled, ready to spring into action.

"Of course," he told her, summoning a stable boy to lead out the roan.

* * *

The inn was crowded and rowdy at this time of the year, and the good news of the army's triumphant return from the last of the Mongol invasions had brought out a celebratory mood in everyone. The drink and song and stories flowed freely, although it was not in her place to participate.

Mulan had found a small spot in the half darkness of a corner. Nobody recognized her in her woollen, hooded cloak. It had been perhaps unwise (her mother would certainly say so) to come without her handmaiden and in her current state, but it had been a long day and she was ravenously hungry, as she was now eating for two. The inn was not one of those inns of ill repute and it was well known that its patrons included soldiers of the Imperial Army. This comforted her, for some reason.

She could smell dust and a slightly horsey smell on herself. She'd gone to seven merchants, and seen more than a hundred colts and foals of various breeds and colours and dispositions; the day's work was still imprinted on her mind. She missed her own stallion, although it would have been foolish to ride Khan. These days, she could only walk – or rather, waddle. If the matchmaker could see her now she would be pleased to see that Mulan was large enough for plenty of children. She looked with some nostalgia upon the days when her body had been her own and light enough so that her feet were not sore from a mere day's walking. It seemed to her that she had been with child forever, just as it seemed that her husband had been away for far too long. And with her pregnancy she had relinquished her duties on the Imperial council, so that her days were spent at home. The house seemed larger and emptier when Shang was gone, and she had taken to spending as much time as possible out of it. Mulan had gone to visit her mother in the countryside, who had said: "Women have always waited for their men to come back – whether from war or their work or the tavern. Patience and faith are great virtues…"

It had not given her the intended comfort, those words. Why did women have to wait at home, she'd demanded, like obedient baby ducks; why they couldn't just go out and find their wayward men, especially if they were out getting drunk in the local tavern? Her mother had sighed and reassured her that it was the way of the world, that it was not just her who felt like this. The implication was that there was no other way. It seemed mightily unfair to her.

Giggling and the rustle of silks interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to see a trio of women settling down near her. They stood out like peacocks, and like the showy animals themselves seemed to bask in the attention they received from the mostly male patrons. Mulan was sure that even she didn't own gowns as expensive or colourful as these, nor had she ever seen such elaborately painted faces. It was clear in which livelihood they worked, though they seemed bold enough to Mulan.

She sipped her tea quietly, trying not to look as though she were listening in on their conversation, which was punctuated with soft laughter and meaningful silences. A few words, spoken in a tone of unmistakeable excitement, caught her attention.

"… They say the army arrives within the hour…"

Another woman, exclaimed, "Ah! Always my favourite time of the year. I love my handsome soldiers."

"– And they say the new general rides with them, no less. Have you seen him, ladies?"

More soft laughter. "I'm sure he would not object to our company at the barracks – it's said he's very generous. We should pay them a visit tonight, girls."

"Oh yes. And they'll be eager for companionship after their long, lonely campaigns…"

Mulan was glad no one could see the angry flush in her cheeks. A thousand insults flew through her mind and she briefly considered wrestling the three harlots to the ground. But that would only give everyone a show and mortify her family beyond belief. In any case she was in no condition to tussle. She felt, and no doubt looked, as though she would burst at any moment. Her feet throbbed and her head ached suddenly. Instead she slammed her teacup onto the table, loudly enough to draw halt to their conversation. Their curiosity turned to surprise as she rose and swept past furiously, head erect with rage.

* * *

The food was exquisite and the decorations magnificent. Mulan ate perfunctorily, her mind too full to pay serious attention to the conversation about her. The words of the three women in the inn reverberated about in her head, and the object of her wrath sat beside her, a slight frown creasing his face. She had welcomed Shang coolly and formally. To his eager and then increasingly puzzled enquiries she'd answered shortly and irritably. For once, his presence inspired not a rush of love and joy but only the cold fear that he had received and taken comfort in arms that did not belong to her, that were not attached to a swollen belly and feet that only left the house but for the utmost necessities. Now, they were surrounded by dozens of others, and he was too polite to press the matter.

She pulled away when he touched her arm, briefly.

"Are you well?" he asked her in a low voice so that no one else could hear. "If you want to go home early –"

Her ire mounted; he could not even guess that she was angry, merely thinking her ill with some sort of womanly ailment, no doubt. Her eyes flashed.

"No," she grated out. "I am _not_ sick."

They looked at each other for a few moments. His eyes, dark and heavy with tiredness, moved over her face, over her narrowed eyes and the mouth pressed into a grim line. He looked as if he hadn't slept in days. Finally, he spoke quietly: "Have I done something to anger you?"

Mulan had vaguely planned to confront him about that – but not in the middle of a crowded banquet amongst so many people. She opened her mouth but closed it again, aware that the couple seated next to her were curiously quiet, as if waiting to hear what she would say next.

This was not the homecoming either of them had imagined, she knew. Her temper had always gotten the best of her, whether it was with her parents, or the meddling matchmaker that had pronounced her unmarriageable, or now, with her husband of barely a year. Of the three main objects of her wrath, being the three women, her husband, and herself, the latter two had already borne her anger. As for those women, how she wished she could go back to that inn and confront them herself! Her hand itched for the grip of her training blade.

Instead she said: "I want to go home."

He nodded, pushing away his food and half rising. "Good idea."

"No," she said evenly. "You stay. You should celebrate tonight. We'll speak later."

Shang hesitated, disappointment flitting across his face as he watched her leave her seat. But she did not turn back and left the banquet hall quickly, feet aching with each step. "My wife is not feeling well," she heard him explain to the others.

Mulan had come home with the intention of taking a long bath and going to sleep, but as she lay in the darkness she found that it was impossible to drift off into peaceful slumber. The child within her was restless as well, moving about in her belly so that she shifted from side to side, trying to find the most comfortable position. The sound of night-time outside intensified as the hours passed and she reviewed the day's events in her mind over and over.

Shang had still not come home. In her head she heard her mother saying: "Women have always waited for their men to come back – whether from war or their work or the tavern." If he was a good husband, he would have returned earlier, and this thought burned away any chance of sleep. It was most unlike him to stay out so late, as he disliked revelry and preferred the quietness of home. She wondered what he was doing at the moment, whether any of the women from the inn had carried out their intentions. The mere idea that he was with them produced a sick sensation in her stomach.

She stiffened as from outside came the sound of galloping hooves and the murmurs of the household staff that signalled her husband's return. A few minutes passed until the door of her bedroom opened silently. He padded quietly to the bedside as he had done so often before. A pause, and then he whispered, "Mulan? Are you awake?"

Mulan lay still, facing away from him with eyes closed, battling suddenly the urge to embrace her husband even as she wished he would leave her alone and go away. She had missed him terribly, after all, for the nearly seven months he had been gone. He waited a while in the silence then sighed, a heavy sound that could have come from a man twenty years older, and left the room.

She stared into the barely visible outlines of her dark room and felt the red hot anger slowly melt away, to be replaced by a feeling that was much more disturbing: confusion. Shang's frustration had been evident. He had been happy – so happy – to see her again, as swollen and different as she had been since he had seen her last, and had taken up her unresponsive hands and kissed them before the entire court, uncaring of what anyone else thought. That was before he had realized that something was wrong. She felt a pang of regret and tenderness.

Perhaps she had been too quick to judge him. He was not one to boast loudly or proudly of honour and loyalty, but she knew that there were few other men who upheld these two qualities as wholly as he did. Mulan had the unique experience of having served as a subordinate soldier under her own husband and recalled with sudden clarity that he had never partaken in excess, never indulged in drink or the dice or women, for that matter. At the time she had thought that he was just setting an example for the rest of the troops, until she had come to see that it was his nature to be such.

A tide of regret overwhelmed her. How badly she had treated him since he had come home! The returning hero, defender of the land, beloved by his troops; Shang had once told her that he would rather be at her side than anywhere else, and no doubt the homecoming he had looked forward to the most had been the most disappointing one.

Mulan sat up in the bed. A light under the doorway told her that he was probably in the study. She donned a light robe and found that he was indeed within the study, head in one hand as he studied a pile of documents upon the desk with the intensity one reserved for meditation. He did not look up as she approached, but as she drew her arm from his shoulder to his neck where the muscles were tense and hard, he caught her hand and pulled it forward, pressing his lips against her wrist for a long moment.

"Am I forgiven, then?" he asked her, exhaustion and trepidation playing in his voice.

"There is nothing to forgive," Mulan told him, turning so that she faced him, and they finally embraced. A fierce rush of joy coursed through her body. Oh, she had missed him. "I am sorry."

"What happened?" he asked.

"It's childish," she said, reluctance smothering her words. She hated the way her emotions seemed to shift more rapidly than the tides. One moment she would be gasping with laughter, and the next, seething with rage or welling with tears.

He shifted, allowing her space to settle in his lap. It was a tight fit. "You're no child."

She told him the entire story. Shang let out a small bark of relieved laughter when she had finished.

"I'd never dishonour you so," he said, more gravely. "You do not truly believe I would be capable of such, do you?"

They had been married for less than a year, but it was in those long days and nights when they'd been nothing more than fellow soldiers, brothers in arms, bonded by sweat and blood, where she'd learned his true character. "No," she said, thinking it best not to enlighten him on the noxious thoughts that had been swirling in her mind just hours prior. "I do not doubt your loyalty."

He did not appear entirely convinced. "In truth, women as such are often deserving of pity."

The three she'd seen didn't look like they'd needed any pity. "Really?" she said doubtfully. The women she'd seen in the inn were richly dressed and well perfumed, able to pay for their own food and drink. And they bore their status with pride. They'd been beholden to no man.

"Not so much the courtesans, who wield some measure of status, but the common woman on the street. There are risks to which they are exposed – disease, violence, poverty. And there is always the risk of unwanted children, along with all the dangers of labour. It is a hard life, and often a short one."

"I suppose they are deserving less of shame than of aid," she murmured.

"But understand, I won't begrudge any of my men the comfort of a woman's touch. It's a timeless profession. And there will always be a need for it."

"I didn't know," she admitted. "I feel as though there are a great many things I don't know." Her parents would never have spoken to her of such matters. Before her time with the army she'd never met anyone outside her tiny village, certainly not the colourful assortment of city people she'd come to know since moving to the capitol. She wondered if other husbands and wives talked liked this.

He smiled. "There are things you could teach any old bearded scholar."

"I wish I were still on the Emperor's council." It had felt good for people to pay attention to her for the content of her speech, and not the style of her dress or the gracefulness of her walk. "I would do something to help any woman who needed it."

He nodded. "The Emperor himself said there would always be a spot for you. And you'll always have my support."

She bit back a sigh. It wasn't his support she was worried about. Her husband had never shown anything but pride that his wife was the only woman on the emperor's council, or that she was headstrong and wilful, or that in the training pit she was as quick and cunning as any man. But there were things women could not reveal to men. Not that she was ungrateful for the child inside her, or unhappy. Her mother had told her there was no greater joy than motherhood. Was it wrong that there were days when she wished she was still Ping, with the hot sun on her back and her limbs light and free beneath her?

"Yes, I'm looking forward to doing more than sitting about and getting fatter each day. This little one had better show its face soon."

Shang peered into her eyes. "I regret that I have been away. When I first received your letter I ran out of my tent in the middle of the night, grinning like a fool, wanting to tell someone – anyone – the good news. I'd never missed you more at that moment."

"Well, I miss being able to see my feet," she said. They both laughed. "And I wish I could have seen that." His brown eyes were still crinkled with laughter, and shone with love. She drew closer and kissed him.

She drew away first. "Oh. Did you feel that?"

He patted her belly. "This one is a troublemaker like its mother, I see."

For that she gave him a look, and then a large yawn.

"Your mother comes in a few days, does she not?" he asked, rubbing her back right at the spot where it often ached these days.

"Oh, yes," she said. "She told me she would not miss the birth of her first grandchild for anything."

"Then we had better get you to bed," said Shang hurriedly. "My mother-in-law will not be pleased with me if she sees that you have dark circles beneath your eyes."

"I can see you have your priorities in order," she teased, as they made their way to bed. She might have felt like a brood mare about to burst, but she had never been happier to have him by her side. She knew that no matter what happened in the next weeks, months, and years, she had his kindness and his humour and his love.


End file.
